


young one

by graywhatsit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Frisk is on a Quest, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Selectively Mute Frisk, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, backseat driver chara, implied child neglect/abuse, like they're still a misanthrope but, morally dark gray chara, toddler!frisk au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say Frisk is a preteen, some say Frisk is a grown adult.</p><p>What if Frisk was just a toddler?</p><p>(based on Tumblr posts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fallen down

**Author's Note:**

> because i've seen posts around speculating frisk's age
> 
> and some mentioned toddler!frisk
> 
> and i just couldn't help myself

        Frisk lifted their aching head, sneezing out dusty yellow pollen. That was weird; weren’t sneezes usually greenish? This one was about as sticky and messy, though, splattered onto a crumpled golden flower right in front of their face and dribbling further away from their nose. Frisk sniffled, trying to suck it up, because no one wants a mess, young lady, Mama said so, even though they _weren’t_ a lady, and their sweater was _brand new_ , and--

    Wait, flower?

    Sniffling again, they pushed themselves up to sitting on short, chubby arms, falling back onto their bottom. Their striped sweater was covered in the same yellow stuff, and their shorts and shoes, too. When they reached a hand up to their head, Frisk found soft yellow petals, as well as their dark hair just covered in the same pollen. What a mess.

    But what a _fun_ mess! Frisk looked just like the sun, or a star, or that big car that held all the big kids that didn’t want to talk to them, ever. Bright yellow, and… glowing? Frisk craned their head back, looked up and up and up, all the way to an awfully bright, tiny hole, surrounded by rocks. Was _that_ the sun? Frisk couldn’t ever remember it being surrounded by rocks before, or being so tiny.

    What they did remember, though, was a lot of walking on short stub legs, having to use all their strength to scramble over rocks and fight through bushes, then finding a big hole in the ground. Why were they walking? For adventure! Mama and Papa had been gone for a long time, anyway, and it was no fun just sitting and waiting around for them. Why look in the hole? Adventurers do that, right? So, like a big, grown up explorer, they walked right up to it, something caught on their shoe, because it was too long for Frisk’s tiny foot, and… they tripped! They tripped and fell down like that girl in that movie they saw once, and landed on a bunch of flowers and probably hit their head because it hurt so bad.

    Well, that just wouldn’t do, would it? Frisk rolled up their left sleeve, exposing the cool blue bandage they’d picked out themselves, and carefully peeled it away. It was losing its stick from being put on so many times, but they were supposed to hurt if you didn’t take it off right, and Frisk wasn’t going to take any more chances. That scrape was scabbed over enough, anyway. Frisk placed it over the bump on their head and patted it once, gently, because no one was there to kiss it, and even if Mama and Papa were, they wouldn’t kiss Frisk. They only kissed each other and sometimes other people, but not Frisk.

    That was okay, though, because Frisk was tough; they’d had, literally, worse scrapes. They didn’t need a kiss. They just needed-- Stick!

    Stick was on the ground, laying in the flowers just like Frisk had been, but they thankfully weren’t broken; just covered in a light layer of pollen. A tough Stick for a tough Frisk. Frisk took Stick in hand, checking it over, just in case. The bark was rough and green-speckled, though already peeling away from softer, lighter wood underneath; nearly as long as Frisk’s toddler height, but nowhere near the weight; much more of a companion than any sort of weapon. They really needed a better name than Stick for such a friend, but it would have to do for now. Frisk stood up on slightly wobbly legs, and gingerly stepped out of the flowers, allowing Stick to help keep them up.

It was probably a really pretty garden, they thought, just looking over the patch of sunlit flora. Prettier than Papa’s, with all that gold and green, lit up by the sun. Then, they’d crushed it on accident.

    Frisk frowned, just for a second, and signed a word they knew very, very well; one that they shouldn’t have known at their age, but did, anyway. For the garden, for the hard work, for someone’s happiness. Fist, thumb sticking up, circled over their tiny chest where their heart would be.

    _I’m sorry._

    After that, they turned around, and left the sunlight and crushed garden behind.

   

    The hall was growing really dark. Frisk wasn’t sure how far they’d come since the tiny, bright garden, but that light was no more than a memory at this point. Instead, all they could see was darkness that almost _hurt_ to look at; Stick had to scout ahead just so they wouldn’t end up falling again, the soft taps echoing off of the walls that Frisk couldn’t see. After taking a corner that really would’ve added to the bump on their head, had it not been for Stick, everything started to get a little bit lighter. Not bright, like before, but just enough to see.

    Stick was getting tired of being in front anyway. Patting them to thank them for their help, Frisk brought Stick back to their side, moving forward with a little more certainty than before.

    Until they saw the small shape in the middle of the room.

    Frisk wasn’t afraid of the dark, and wasn’t really afraid of strangers, but something felt weird in this room. The little shape sat in the brightest part of the room, just huddled over, making no noise and not moving an inch. Just sitting.

    But explorers weren’t scared of strange stuff, and Frisk was an explorer. Taking a breath, Frisk walked closer to the shape.

    It sat up as they grew near and began to speak.

    “Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the flower!”

    And Frisk smiled.

    A flower! About half their size, with bright yellow petals like the ones from the garden, and a cute smiling face in the middle. Flowey’s voice was bright and sunny, incredibly so, like when Mama decided she would read to Frisk instead of shooing them away when it was time for bed. If this flower sounded like that all the time, and not when reading a story… maybe they were a friend! They already felt like one, even if that was a weirdy happy-sad feeling.

    Frisk waved, delighted when Flowey wiggled a glossy green leaf in their direction. Their new friend was an awfully pretty flower, weren’t they? Like those ones they’d landed on, but bigger and brighter, and so cheerful! Frisk raised a hand to their round face, signing _beautiful_ _,_ because Flowey should really know that _._

    Flowey gave them a weird look, the bright grin falling just a little. “Uh.. right, kid. Anyway, you’re new to the underground, arent’cha?” They paused as Frisk nodded, beginning to sign with what limited words they knew, the smile falling further and further to be replaced by a look Frisk only just remembered, from before they could use the potty on their own very well, when something was stinky and Mama took a really long time to change them.

    Like _Frisk_ was stinky, or...

    “Yeah, okay. Well, someone should teach you how things work around here,” Flowey interrupted as Frisk’s hands started to fumble and slow, “and since no one else came, little old me will have to do! Ready? Here we go!”

    Without a second to actually get ready, something happened. It was hard to explain; suddenly, the world around Frisk and Flowey became even darker, and something tugged in Frisk’s chest. Soft at first, then stronger and stronger until something _tore_ , and-- right in front of Frisk, just a few inches in front of the tugging feeling, was a bright red, glowing heart shape. It was even prettier than the flower! Curious, Frisk reached out to touch it, leaving their fingers and chest warm and tingly as their hand passed right through.

    “Nice, huh?” Frisk looked up to see Flowey, just as well lit as before, watching them-- no, the heart shape-- closely. “That heart right there? That’s your SOUL, the very culmination of your being!”

    Frisk had no idea what that big word meant, but since that heart came out of them, the SOUL must have been part of them. That made sense. They continued playing with the SOUL, still hovering in front of them, as Flowey continued to talk, giggling silently at the tingly feeling it gave their fingers.

    “... Are you ready?” Flowey’s voice finally cut through Frisk’s thoughts, and they stopped playing in order to pay attention. Some tiny white shapes in V-formation hovered in the air above Flowey, spinning slowly; they kind of looked like pieces of the kitchen counter back at home, kind of gray and like little pieces of rock. Not as pretty as any of the flowers, but... “Move around, and get as many as you can!”

    Frisk could _keep_ them? Pleased, Frisk stepped forward, their SOUL following suit just a few inches ahead, and reached out with tiny hands to grab the pieces out of the air--

    _Ow!_ When the pieces touched Frisk’s dark skin, and passed through their SOUL, they didn’t tingle or feel like rock at all. Instead, those shapes ripped through them, burning like the candles Mama sometimes lit, hurt more than their head after the fall, more than any scrape, bump, or bruise Frisk had ever had in their short life. With a tiny cry, they fell back on their bottom, confused and hurting. Flowey had said they could take the pieces, and then they got hurt-- why would they do something like that? Frisk moved their eyes back to them, away from their sore SOUL, looking for answers, and scooted back, just a bit.

    Flowey’s face wasn’t bright and sunny anymore. They had jagged teeth, a nasty smile, and wide, wild eyes, and, when they spoke their next words, their voice had deepened, warped into something scary and hateful.

    “You _idiot_ ,” Flowey hissed. “In this world, it’s KILL or BE killed. How could anyone pass up an opportunity like _this_?” A little shiver raced up their stem in some kind of sick pleasure, and Flowey sat up straight. In a single moment, a ring of those same painful pellets looped around Frisk, with no gap in sight. “ ** _DIE_**.”

    They began to close in, slowly, and without any way to stop it, Frisk could only watch, sat in the center of the ring and cradling their battered SOUL to their chest. Young as they were, Frisk knew that word, and they also knew they didn’t want that to happen. _Stop_ , they signed, replacing their hands with their knees to keep their SOUL protected, if it would even work. _Help!_

    The pellets disappeared.

    Stunned, both Frisk and Flowey looked at the empty space the ring had been, then at each other. After a heartbeat, before Flowey could even try again, a small burst of red flame struck them, sending them flying away from Frisk and off into the dark.

    “What a terrible creature,” a new voice came, feminine, cool, and somewhat angry, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

    The owner of the voice came into view and, though they knew it was rude to stare at anyone, Frisk couldn’t help themselves. It wasn’t a person-- at least, not one like Frisk, anyway. She-- possibly she-- had big curving horns, long floppy ears, and short white fur, kind of like a…

    _Goat_ , Frisk spelled, slowly and carefully. They knew their alphabet, and they were a really good speller as far as they knew. It was just a matter of getting their clumsy fingers in order. _You? Goat?_

    The lady-- maybe, she was wearing a pretty, faded dress-- watched Frisk’s hands carefully, and, much to their surprise, _understood_. And _laughed_ , but not in a mean way, like Flowey.

    “Is that what you would call me?” Her voice was no longer chilly or mad, but more warm and welcoming. It made Frisk feel good just to listen to her. “Perhaps I do look like an Overworld creature, but no-- I am a Monster, and caretaker of the Ruins. Toriel.” As Toriel spoke her name, she actually _fingerspelled_ it! Her fingers were big and claw-tipped, but she was careful and slow, so Frisk could pick it up, and Frisk looked up at her in awe. Toriel smiled, and though Frisk could see the points of her teeth, they weren’t afraid.

    In fact, as Toriel continued to explain the Ruins and how she would guide them, then bent down to wipe their runny nose and messy face clean, Frisk took her hand, and didn’t let go.


	2. the ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note
> 
> this story is not going to be fast paced, only what is different from the norm
> 
> it's basically a novelization, with a few changes
> 
> apologies if you don't like slow pacing, but that's how this is gonna work
> 
> on with the story!

With Toriel at their side, the long walk down the halls didn’t seem so scary to Frisk. Granted, the rooms were also a lot brighter: soft light must have somehow shone out of the purple brick, because there was no other form of light from torches or lamps or anything. Or, perhaps it was the pretty green vines with their bunches of leaves, crawling around and through the crumbling cracks of the walls, just as much part of the buildings as the bricks themselves. Or, still, maybe it was the soft, warm hand gently holding Frisk’s.

    As they walked, Frisk listened carefully to every word Toriel spoke, and flipped the marked switches on the wall as instructed, because the way she was talking made them seem like they were Very Important Things, and if Things were Very Important, they were worth knowing. Frisk knew not listening made trouble, mostly for themselves, and maybe that was why Flowey had hurt them with those pieces. They knew they hadn’t been listening the whole time; they had been distracted, very easily distracted, by their own SOUL. Maybe, if Frisk had listened carefully, Flowey would have been their friend.

    “Are you all right, my child?”

    Frisk blinked, surprised at the question, and looked up at Toriel, rather than at the walls. Toriel had stopped their journey just inside the doorway to the next room, smaller than the last, with a slightly dusty dummy waiting patiently by the path. They’d been thinking about things, but they had been listening to Toriel the whole time! Did Toriel not think so? Afraid, Frisk nodded quickly, letting go of Toriel’s hand to frantically sign something to explain.

    “Shh… slow down.” Toriel kneeled and reached out for Frisk’s hands to still them, covering them with paws three times their size. “You do seem to have a bump on your head; I was simply wondering if you do need a break? We are in no rush.”

    Frisk watched her face cautiously, wondering if this was true. Flowey had tricked them before, and it had hurt, but… Toriel didn’t seem overly cheerful, or like she was pretending. Her eyes were shifting, but only to look at Frisk’s bumps and scrapes, a real measure of worry on her face, and her hands weren’t gripping tight in order to keep them there-- she let go the moment Frisk pulled back. Frisk wasn’t the best at faces or telling what people were thinking, but Toriel had been nothing but kind and calm, and that was worth their trust. Slowly, they signed: _I’m okay. Just looking around_. They gestured around at the walls. _Tell me more? Please._

    A smile crossed Toriel’s face-- no more worry, and it looked happy and true enough-- and she stood up, holding her hand out for Frisk to take once more. “If you are certain, little one. Come along; before I begin speaking of the Ruins, I would like you to take a look at this dummy…”

    Frisk was starting to get an idea of how things worked in the Underground. The moment they approached the dummy, as per Toriel’s instructions, the room grew dark and a little muffled, like they and the dummy were the only two left in the entire room. Three little tugs in the center of their chest, and then their SOUL, bright red, glowing, and no longer battered, floated out in front. A little unsure, considering the last time all of this had taken place, Frisk curved their hands around their SOUL. The dummy, for their part, looked like they were about to fall over.

    “Now, my dear.” Toriel’s voice floated into the dark and quiet, but when Frisk looked around, they couldn’t see her. “Simply strike up a friendly conversation. Say, ‘hello’!”

    Even a compliment hadn’t worked with Flowey, but if Toriel was sure-- and it seemed like she was, because the Very Important Things voice was back, and that meant business-- it would work… Frisk took a breath, faced the dummy, and raised their hand up to the side of their head. _Hello. I’m Frisk._ They spelled their name carefully, because names could be hard to catch sometimes.

    The dummy looked at them, blankly. It seemed they really didn’t want to talk; Frisk wondered if that had even worked, but no white shapes came for them, and Toriel looked really pleased after the dark and Frisk’s SOUL faded away, clawed hands clasped to her chest.

“Very good; you are very good!” The praise warmed their heart, because it was a new and good thing, and Frisk eagerly followed Toriel into the next room. Toriel had promised to tell them about the Ruins, and they weren’t about to miss any of it.

 

The rest of the walk was like being in that place Mama took Frisk once. It had a bunch of other little kids and a grown up lady, sometimes two, who took care of them during the day. There were games, and a nap, and a snack, but mostly there was talking, and teaching. At the end of the day, Mama, or Papa, once, came and picked Frisk up to take them back home. The one time Papa came in, Frisk had been there a long time, and no other kids were there anymore; Frisk sat in a chair while Papa and the lady argued, and then Frisk never went back.

This, with Toriel, was a little better. There wasn’t a nap or a snack or anything, even if Frisk tugged on Toriel’s hand to ask her to tie their shoe at one point, but there was a lot of talking, and teaching. A _lot_ of it: even as Toriel tied their shoe, she kept telling Frisk about Monsters, what kinds she had seen, about the Ruins and how every Monster had lived there once, about the neat symbol on her dress, even if she didn’t sound very happy about that one.

When Frisk was approached by a large, pale green creature-- a Froggit, Frisk remembered-- she stopped her lecture. It was a good thing, too-- as much as Frisk liked listening to Toriel’s voice, they couldn’t concentrate on dodging teeny white flies as well as learn about Underground history, as well as remember not to use Stick, still faithfully at Frisk’s side. Instead, Frisk signed a compliment about the neat swirly pattern on the Froggit’s skin. Before Frisk or the Froggit could do anything else, Toriel had glared the Froggit away. It was a little sad to lose a friend.

The only other time she paused was at the beginning of a very long room with a narrow, curving path, a big grey column at the end. For a few seconds, Toriel stopped walking, looking briefly at a confused Frisk before looking at the end of the room, a long way away. It took a few seconds, plus a soft tug and questioning, quiet hum from Frisk, before she began walking and talking again, as if nothing had happened, still holding Frisk’s hand and guiding them through the multitudes of puzzles.

The rest of the way was interesting, with Toriel explaining a little more in-depth about every Monster Frisk came across, even if it took some time and a good amount of signing to try and keep the glare to a minimum.

“Yes, my child?” Toriel had just finished glaring away another poor Froggit, who nearly hopped right into the wall in order to leave. “Do you want to say something?”

 _Don’t glare_ , Frisk signed, with as stern a face a toddler could muster, standing tall yet still needing to crane their head back to look Toriel in the eye. _Not nice, please don’t._

“Was I?” Toriel raised a hand to her chest, looking truly surprised at this news, given by the world’s smallest lecturer. “I must apologize; I simply saw them attacking you-- and you have done wonderfully, I am so proud-- and they may have--”

 _No_ , Frisk interrupted. _Monsters can be nice: frogs and Whimsuns_ \-- here, Frisk had to spell it out, and wasn’t even sure if it was correct, but something told them they had it right-- _and Mom Monsters too. Be nice._

“Mom Monsters?” Frisk froze, thinking back over their signs. They had, in fact, signed _mom_ before _Monsters_ , on accident but maybe not, because Toriel was like Mama but way better, even if Mama might be sad to hear that, or even mad, and if she found out--

“Frisk,” Toriel continued, a little softer, interrupting Frisk’s thoughts. “Is.. is that what you would call me? ‘Mother’?” As Frisk brought their curled fist up to their chest, ready to apologize and take everything back, Toriel kept going. “If you wish, you may call me whatever you like.”

Frisk thought about it for a second. Toriel was taking care of them, acted like a mom, sounded like a mom, and Mama wasn’t in the Underground with them, anyway. Besides, who said someone couldn’t have more than one mom? _Really?_ At Toriel’s nod, Frisk smiled, just a small smile, and signed _mom._ After a pause, they giggled silently as they signed _goat mom. Toriel, goat mom._

Toriel huffed, but it was playful, and Frisk could tell the difference in this one. “Oh, goat mom! Well, if I am a goat mom…” There was a twinkle in Toriel’s eye, something that only promised bad things to come, and Frisk braced themselves, “... that must make you my _kid_!”

Frisk shook their head, because bad jokes are bad jokes at any age, but Toriel’s bleating laughter was so contagious, they couldn’t help but join in.

 

Toriel’s new title must have buttered her up, or at least got her to relax some about the monsters here and there around the Ruins; no one ended up on the business end of her glare-- at least, until Frisk got hit. The full mom rage came out then, and Frisk acted as long-suffering mediator, showing Toriel how little the new nick bothered them by taking the peeling bandage and placing it over the new battle scar.

No one else got hurt, but Frisk did get a small piece of candy from a bowl on a pedestal they couldn’t quite reach afterwards. Having a tall mom was the best, as well as having one who knew spiders really well, like Toriel did. A small room they ducked into was full up with spiderwebs and teeny spiders crawling along the strands, and Frisk nearly reached for Stick until they saw Toriel hand over some coins into a small, sticky web. Mystified, they watched as a trio of spiders crawled down and handed over a dark-frosted yeast donut.

They didn’t know spiders made such delicious treats; maybe it was the extra limbs.

The last note of interest on the long walk, out of many others Frisk could have chosen, was an actual Fight. A white blobby shape took up the whole walkway of a room, resting on a pile of red leaves. Frisk would have believed it asleep, were it not for the fact that, right in the middle of the odd snoring, the shape asked if they were gone yet.

That was just silly.

Toriel cleared her throat, sounding about as polite as any throat-clearing possibly could, but the real instigator was Stick, themselves, poking the shape in the side gently. It was enough, seeing as the shape rose up out of the leaves to look at them all. It-- they?-- seemed to be a ghost, as far as Frisk knew of ghosts. The kind where you’d throw a bedsheet over your head and cut out eyeholes before getting in trouble for cutting up sheets, except those didn’t have the black wire of a set of headphones looped around where the shoulders would be, and didn’t look so sad.

“Oh…” The ghost sounded echoey and quiet, even though they were all right next to each other. “I’m sorry… I was in the way, wasn’t I…?” They looked down at the leaves they were floating a good few feet over, somehow even sadder than before; poor ghost, Frisk thought, and reached out a hand to wave. When the ghost finally looked up, Frisk having caught their attention, Frisk smiled at them, signing _hello_ and _it’s okay_.

“Heh..” The ghost made a small, wiggly motion, like they were shuffling the feet they didn’t have. Their face tilted up, over Frisk’s head, and they turned to look at what had distracted their possible new friend. Toriel stood close behind Frisk, nodding politely when she caught the ghost’s eye.

“Napstablook,” she said, pleasantly, but not very familiar, “if we could…?”

The ghost-- Napstablook, and Frisk signed it to themselves to remember it better, even if it wasn’t quite right-- didn’t move, only stared at the ground as they had been doing. Blook was shy, and nervous, and Frisk could understand, since Toriel could be a little.. strong, at first. They weren’t sure if the Monsters from before had recovered yet from the Mom Glare-- wait. Frisk waved for Blook’s attention and started signing, slow because they didn’t know some of the signs and had to spell: _what do spirits eat for breakfast? Ghoast!_

“Heh, heh… I eat mine with jam…” Napstablook could only just be heard over Toriel’s snickering; she must have caught the joke, too. Blook had brightened up considerably now, though it wasn’t an expression so much as a feeling. “Uh.. let me show you…” Blook wiggled in place again, and after a second, tears slipped… up their face? Frisk had never seen anything like it. Before long, a dapper top hat perched on Blook’s head. “What… do you think..?”

Frisk gave two thumbs up, and Toriel clapped.

Blook, for lack of a better word, blushed as only ghosts can, and with a tiny “oh, gee…” melted into thin air, leaving their hat behind. Before Toriel had led them out of the room for good, Frisk put it on their own head. Blook would want it back, and they’d deliver it for them.

 

Toriel’s house was small, and really far into the ruins, but it was cozy and didn’t feel chilly like the rest of the Underground, colored in soft creams and yellows inside. Looking around the outside as it first came into view gave Frisk a strange feeling. Here, in this dark, cool place, Monsters had come and made their homes, were nice to each other-- mostly, anyway-- and kept going, carving out their own lives. It swelled up in Frisk’s chest, where their SOUL always came out, and it felt like Frisk could keep going, too.

They would have looked at the shiny spot left there a little closer, but Toriel was hurrying them inside. Maybe they could do that later.

“Welcome to your new home, my child!” Frisk craned their neck to find Toriel smiling down at them, eyes bright. “I do hope you like it here, even if it is a bit messy…”

Frisk patted her hand, smiling. It was a nice place to call home, warm and smelling like sugar and butter, comfortable… they yawned, blinking drowsily. When did they get so tired? It was an awful lot of walking and talking for their tiny self, yes, but out of nowhere?

They could hear Toriel laugh, but it wasn’t like her earlier laughs. It was quieter and warmer, and didn’t sound so bleat-y. Frisk wasn’t sure what was so funny about being tired. “Perhaps it would be best for a nap before dinner, hm?” Toriel took their hand once more, and led Frisk, stumbling over their own feet, down a hall to a door. “This is your room, small one,” she explained, running a hand over Frisk’s hair, which felt great until she stopped, much to Frisk’s disappointment. “Though a bath may also be in order first.”

Frisk looked at the big hand covered in sticky yellow pollen and wrinkled their nose. Gross! They signed as much to Toriel, who nodded sagely in agreement.

First things first, Frisk needed to wash up. It didn’t take too long, because Frisk needed to ask Toriel for help, because any time they tried to soap up their own hair, they got it all in their eyes and it stung a lot. Toriel was far better at keeping their eyes soap-free, and rinsing it out, and at bath time in general. Fair enough, considering Frisk could count on one hand just how old they were.

After borrowing a smaller shirt Toriel happened to have on hand, Frisk was tucked in for a nap in a big soft bed that smelled a little like dust but a lot like home, and they drifted off into a good sleep for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no eta on ch 3 yet
> 
> but
> 
> it's heartbreak and laughs and a little bit of terror
> 
> you know how it is


	3. explorer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long one today!  
> sorry it took a while-- things came up (like mandatory os updates), but everything's settled!

Frisk had never felt so happy in all of their days, which weren’t very large in number, but still far too great for Frisk to count, at least at this point. Over the past month, and it had been a month, because Toriel helped Frisk cross off the days one by one, things had changed drastically for them.

    Toriel was, in all honesty, the best mom Frisk could have ever wanted. She read stories every night, sometimes over again if Frisk asked politely and was far too wound up for sleep after the end of the first, and made good voices to the best of her ability each time. She made great meals for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks, even if there were a ridiculous amount of snails involved, and let Frisk stir up pie filling or soup, or put the right amount of granut butter-- kind of like peanut butter, but a little granier and the nuts actually came from rocks-- on their own crackers. She even helped with bath time when Frisk got messy, and never complained-- only teased-- when Frisk got a little too carried away with their bubbles.

    Even Frisk’s lessons were way better here. Toriel had a way of connecting the lesson of the day to some memory of hers, making the entire session more like story time than school, which was way more fun.

    “You may not know this,” Toriel said, one day, interrupting a lesson on the Chemistry of Baking: Pie Crust and Ratios, dough and flour spotted up her arms, “but I have always wanted to be a teacher.” She paused for a moment, carefully watching over Frisk’s rolling technique, before continuing. “Perhaps it is not that surprising.”

    Frisk stopped rolling, casting a critical eye over their dough piece, which turned out a little lopsided and uneven, and set their tiny rolling pin aside to free their hands to talk. _You’re a good teacher, mom. Look, I’m better!_

    Toriel reached out a hand to stroke Frisk’s hair, but thought better of it. No sense in getting their thick hair messy, as well. “That you are, my child. Are you finished with your crust?” Frisk looked over their piece again. It looked a little sad, to be honest.

_No. Help?_

    There was never any shame in asking for help, and Toriel made absolutely sure Frisk knew that. “Of course, dear.” When Frisk picked up their rolling pin, determined to get even better, Toriel placed her hands over Frisk’s to guide them. “Now, when you are rolling out a crust, you must take great care…”

    The most fun part, in Frisk’s opinion, was going out with Toriel on her rounds. As she’d mentioned all that time ago, she went on excursions every day, hunting for bugs, tending to her gardens, and even just speaking to a few of the other residents. With Frisk’s powers of mediation, Toriel had become a little less intimidating for everyone, and while some of the shyer residents-- namely the entire Whimsun population-- still kept to themselves, it expanded Frisk’s social circle from just Toriel and the spiders at the bake sale. One, an old Froggit, the one who spent the most time by the long pillar room and the candy pedestal, even decided to give his true name: Rupert. Whenever Frisk stopped by, usually on the way to or from Toriel’s flower garden, he snuck them an extra piece of monster candy.

    Being tiny and cute had many perks, and extra candy was one of them.

    Hunting for bugs wasn’t very fun for Frisk. They were all tiny and hard to see, even if Frisk had gotten used to the dim lighting, and the way they skittered and wriggled around, with all their extra limbs… it gave Frisk the heebies, but not the jeebies. Those were reserved for, of all things, flower gardening.

    Maybe it was because that was where Frisk had fallen down, and even though Toriel had forgiven them instantly for crushing some, they still felt guilty and uncomfortable. Maybe it was because Flowey had looked just like those flowers, and sometimes Frisk had bad dreams about them, filled with red stuff and pain, and had to go to Toriel for a hug or even to spend the night.

    Even with all of that, maybe it really was just that while Frisk played at gardening, trying their best and only really succeeding in getting dirty, Toriel did her work with as much care as she did anything, but never once said a word. Even if Frisk said something, the responses were two words at best, or a look, though not a mean one, at worst. Toriel didn’t look happy or even calm while she tended the garden, either; instead, she looked incredibly sad, more than Frisk had ever seen on anyone. When they left, the somber mood persisted through washing up and dinner, and story time was a bit more subdued than usual. Those flowers seemed to hang over everyone’s head like a dark stormcloud, no matter what.

    Frisk wondered why Toriel even did it, if it made her so sad.

    “Because,” she replied, only once, stilling her hands and looking Frisk in the eye, “someone has to take care of these flowers.” Her voice was so quiet, echoing just a bit in the flower chamber, and so different from her normal voice, that Frisk never asked again. They couldn’t bear to see their mom so unhappy, no matter how curious they were.

 

    These excursions all had a double meaning for Frisk. After all this time, Blook’s hat still sat in a place of honor in their room, right on top of the no longer dusty set of drawers, just as solid as ever. Whenever a trip came up, Frisk would place it on their head and take it out with them, just in case they should ever run into Blook again. If a ghost lost their hat, how could they look dapper, or be invited to a party? They’d be underdressed, and it was sad to lose things, anyway, even if you didn’t need it all that often. Blook was out there without a hat and Frisk had made a solemn promise to themselves to return it.

    If only they knew where Blook lived. Toriel, for however long she had lived in the ruins, had been no help at all, because she didn’t quite know where he-- finally, an answer to that question-- lived these days. “The last I knew of that ghost,” she said, still in her rocking chair with glasses perched on the end of her muzzle, “he lived far into the underground near his cousin. Nowadays, I have only ever seen him in the Ruins. Do you really need to give it back, dear? He did make it out of his tears; perhaps he could make a new one if he needed it?”

    Frisk sighed; she just didn’t understand the importance. Anyway, they were pretty sure Napstablook wasn't a he, even if Toriel had known them longer. _I promised. It’s okay, thank you._

    The spiders had no knowledge of his whereabouts, either, despite being near one of his hangouts, a pile of leaves directly in the middle of a hallway. “The ghost is stingy,” one said in a sweet trill. “They never buy, just look and moan.”

    “Look and moan,” another agreed in a hiss. They scuttled towards the first spider, and Frisk suppressed a shiver. These spiders were perfectly friendly, if a little… forceful, but the way they _moved_. “Smell and leave and never buy, and we have no care where they go.”

    “But you buy, human,” a last spider crawled out from a shadowy part of the web. “You always buy; will you buy today?”

    Frisk, a bit worried at the confession, bought a donut.

    “Thank you, human,” the spiders chorused, high pitched, hissing, a little menacing, and Frisk hurried their pace. They’d be a little more careful around the spiders from now on, if that’s how they thought. Their donuts were really good, though.

    Rupert was Frisk’s final informant, and he was about as helpful as Toriel had been.

    “Well, now,” he croaked, quite literally. “A ghost-type-- have I ever seen a ghost?”

    _They look like a sheet_ , Frisk signed, then paused. Not everyone in the Underground could tell their signing from random gestures, and they had just the thing for it. From their bag, they pulled a pad and pencil, because their letters were just getting good enough to be read, and started to write.

    “No, I can read ya fine, bean. A sheet, eh?” Rupert pondered this for a moment, while Frisk, half relieved and half disappointed, put away their pad. “Were they, uh, floatin’ around?” At Frisk’s nod, he took another few seconds to think. “Seen a few of ‘em-- they have feet? No? Hm.”

    Maybe they should’ve kept the pad out after all. As Rupert took his time once more, Frisk scribbled a drawing-- something they were much, much better at, considering the amount of them on Toriel’s fridge-- of Napstablook, headphone wires and all. _Looks like this_ , they wrote underneath.

    “Oh, them. Floatin’ and moanin’, lyin’ around like a sad sack, yes.” Rupert nodded decisively. “I know them, came by here couple times. Said they were goin’ home. Past that cold nasty stuff, in Waterfall, swampy place-- you know I had family there once?”

    Frisk did not, in fact, know that. _Thank you, Mr. Rupert ._

    “You’re welcome, bean-- oh, and, uh,” Rupert leaned in, passing a tiny piece of wrapped hard candy into Frisk’s hand, “don’t tell your mama I gave you another piece today. You just got her to stop glarin’, I don’t need that again.”

    Score! With a promise, Frisk scurried back home. Dinner was waiting for them, and they were just starting to put a plan together.

 

    Frisk waited in the dark, just as tucked in as they had been for the last few hours. There was still no clock anywhere in the room, but they could at least guess it was really late; Toriel’s footsteps had already gone down the hall towards her own room, and the door had clicked shut maybe half an hour ago. She hadn’t gotten back up, but Frisk had to be careful about this.

    In the early days, Frisk, curious little bean they were, explored around the downstairs. The halls were long and dark, the ground a little dusty, and everything was made of the same purple stone as the rest of the Ruins outside. They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps, determined as ever, before Toriel hurried up to them.

    “What are you doing down here, my child?” She took Frisk’s hand and bustled them back upstairs, continuing to talk as they walked. “It is no place to play; you may get a cough!”

    Frisk didn’t quite understand that. The entire scope of the Ruins was chilly and a little worn down, even dusty, save for Toriel’s home, and Toriel had never once objected to Frisk playing or even walking around out there. Why was the downstairs so different?

    “It is just a basement, dear, no place for little beans like you,” Toriel explained once they were back upstairs, gently poking Frisk’s nose with a finger. It tickled, but Frisk was in no mood to giggle as per usual. “Come along-- would you like to help me make lunch?”

    Well, _no_ , not really. Frisk went down in Mama’s basement all the time, because they could watch cartoons down there if they were very quiet. Upstairs was for news and Mama’s shows, and Frisk didn’t like those very much. Basements weren’t scary or bad, so why couldn’t Frisk go down there? Toriel wouldn’t hear any more of it, though, and Frisk had to help get the granuts for fresh granut butter. Unfair.

    Today, though, was different. Toriel was fast asleep, Frisk was wide awake, and the basement was wide open for exploring. Frisk wriggled out of bed as carefully as they could, putting some pillows under the blankets because they saw it on a movie Mama watched once, because Toriel sometimes came in to check on them, and they couldn’t be too careful.

    That settled, Frisk changed out of their pajamas-- they were new and had colorful little snails on them, Toriel-made-- and into normal clothes, the very ones they arrived in. They started adventuring in their striped sweater and boots, and it was just tradition at this point. Besides, they were already a little dirty, and it wouldn’t matter so much if they got even dirtier.

    They packed up some things of use in their little bag, because you can’t go exploring without gear: a flashlight, because Toriel said Frisk was too young to make any flames yet, much less ones only for light, and a jacket, because you never know when it’ll get chilly. Even an extra bandage was put in one of the pockets, just in case, as well as their pad and pencil. Putting it on their back, Frisk filled their shorts pockets with their allowance, stuck Stick, as faithful as ever, through one of their belt loops, placed Blook’s hat right on top of their head just because it looked cool there, and carefully tiptoed out of their room and down the hall, into the kitchen. You could never have too many snacks.

    The candy Rupert gave them went in, as well as some granut butter crackers and a carrot, because you have to eat your vegetables and the only one Frisk liked at the moment was carrots, and the very last slice of Toriel’s butterscotch-cinnamon pie. They were tempted to eat it right then and there, because even room-temperature it smelled and looked divine, but Frisk resisted. They were still full from dinner, anyway.

    Just before Frisk headed down the stairs, they had a thought. What if they weren’t back in a little bit, like they thought? They might find something neat downstairs and stay for a while, and Toriel would worry her horns off, and though that was a silly image, Frisk didn’t want her to worry. Toriel was a great mom, and she was sad enough sometimes without having to worry about them. Carefully, in their best handwriting, Frisk wrote _be back soon_ on some paper and put slid it under Toriel’s door. She’d see it in the morning and not worry!

    Now, Frisk thought, finally heading down the stairs, to adventure!

 

    The halls were really long, and they got chillier and darker the deeper Frisk went. They stopped halfway to put on their jacket, which only just kept a bit of the cold out, and because their flashlight was so dim, Stick needed to help out, too, tapping out the path for Frisk to follow.

    They’d never seen a basement like this before.

    After a few minutes, the hall widened into a room, just a little brighter than the halls, and Frisk’s flashlight landed on a massive door opposite them. Three or four times Frisk’s height, maybe five times their width, and made of darker purple stone, it had a symbol on it. Frisk needed to get even closer to read it, stretching up their flashlight to get better light. It was the same symbol on Toriel’s old dress, just more faded away; what a find!

    Doors always lead somewhere, and that somewhere was where all of the cold seemed to be coming from. If Toriel was having a heating problem, maybe they could fix it for her, just to be nice! Or, maybe… Rupert had said there was cold, nasty stuff before the Waterfall, and this was super cold. Maybe, if Frisk went all the way past the cold, they could reach the swamp, and then find Napstablook! He could get his hat back!

    Frisk felt warm inside, rising up through their chest, and another softly glowing wisp, just like when they’d first gotten here, appeared. It actually warmed their fingers a little as Frisk poked at it, catching the steam-like tendrils that came off, making their hands shine for a split second before fading away. Determination. Frisk hummed, thinking, then renamed the spot with all seriousness: Determinal, because, just like a bus terminal, they could always circle back here if they were lost. Perfect.

    Frisk reached up for the door’s handle and pulled with all their might. For all its age, the door hardly made a single sound as it slowly opened, just wide enough for Frisk to slip through.

    The world on the other side was blue and white, and actually much brighter than the Ruins, not to mention the coldest place Frisk had ever been. The trees were all bare and dark, and the ground was covered in a decent blanket of snow, even though when Frisk had fallen down, it was just starting summer. What a strange place-- was it winter all the time? Did it snow every day? Did whoever lived here get stuck sometimes and not have to go anywhere?

    Frisk’s head spun with all of their questions, and they stumbled forward on their quickly-numbing legs, slogging through the snow as best they could, stepping over a large branch in the path as carefully as possible. They didn’t want to slip on the snow and get soaked.

    When they were a few feet ahead of it, the branch snapped. Frisk spun around to see the branch completely in half, with no one around to have possibly stepped on it. Unsure if their shivers were from the cold or something else, Frisk hunched their shoulders and continued forward again, gripping Stick for comfort.

    A few minutes later, as they approached a strange looking bridge across a gap in the ground, the snow started to crunch. Frisk’s little boots hardly made a noise on the snow when they walked, and not only were they not on the snow anymore, but they weren’t walking. The footsteps stopped.

    “H u m a n,” a voice said, deep but somehow hollow, like yelling into a cave mouth and hearing the echo back, at most a foot behind Frisk, “d o n ‘ t  y o u  k n o w  h o w  t o  g r e e t  a  n e w  p a l?”

    A new pal? Scaring them was no way to make a friend, as far as Frisk knew.

    “T u r n  a r o u n d  a n d  s h a k e  m y  h a n d.”

    This was enough to give Frisk both the heebies _and_ the jeebies, which was saying something. That said, Frisk was an explorer, and explorers had courage, and Frisk was not going to shake and run away like they sort of wanted to. Neither were they going to hit, because that was wrong, and they forced their hand off of Stick. Instead, Frisk turned around and stuck out their hand to shake.

    _Pbbbbbtttttttt …_

    What.

    A short, yet still much taller than Frisk, skeleton in a thick blue hoodie grinned down at Frisk. “heh heh heh, the old whoopie cushion in the hand trick,” he-- maybe he-- said, pulling back his bony hand to reveal a small, pink cushion, now sadly deflated. “works every time .”

    Frisk, relieved, surprised, and freezing all at once, fell back onto their bottom, bursting into giggles. Because of course he’d be a jokester.

    Just like goat mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what an adventure!  
> wanna know my writing process?  
> sit down and just let words fall out onto the document  
> it's terrible, isn't it?  
> ALSO since it's been addressed in the comments, i know napstablook is referred to as they in game. blook is a shy ghost, and would be very unlikely to correct anyone if they got it wrong (for example, the entire Ruins). frisk will be informed very soon-- i personally know how awful it is to be misgendered, even when you aren't there to hear it.


	4. skelebros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> news on mom: she's going up to stanford today  
> may or may not be going with, depends on things, more potential lag and i'm sorry
> 
> ANYWAY  
> you wanted the skelebros and here they come

Toriel woke at the same time she did every morning, bundled up in her blankets in her dark, comfortable room. The day must be started properly, as any and every day should: she got out of bed, stretched her old bones, had a wash, got dressed, and carefully tiptoed past Frisk’s room to get their breakfast started. It would do no good to wake her child-- how she loved to say that once more-- before their breakfast was on the table.

Soon enough, pans were sizzling over tiny orange flames, sending amazing smells flooding through the house. Toriel waited a few moments, spatula in the hand that wasn’t otherwise occupied with controlling the flames, for the scent of breakfast to rouse Frisk. There were no soft footsteps approaching the kitchen, even after five minutes, but Toriel didn’t worry. Frisk had gone on quite the little adventure yesterday, trekking all over the Ruins; it was understandable why they would take that few extra minutes of sleep. Extinguishing her magic with a flick of her wrist, Toriel headed for Frisk’s room.

“My child…” Toriel poked her head around the door, seeing into the dark of the room. “It’s time for--” A lump still lay in the bed, but something felt wrong, freezing her voice in her throat. Going against a promise she made very early on in Frisk’s stay here-- that their room was very much a private, safe place, and should only be really entered with permission-- she hurried over, flipping back the covers to reveal a Frisk-shaped pile of pillows.

“This is not the time to be playing hide and seek, my dear,” Toriel addressed the room, turning away from the bed to put her hands on her hips. “Your breakfast is going cold.” For all her words, Toriel was becoming worried: Frisk was not the type to play hide and seek, especially not so early in the morning, and their amused giggles could never be hidden. Frisk, to put it plainly, was not here.

Toriel forced away the panic with the ease of many years of practice; there had been a gap between when she passed Frisk’s room and had come back to check. Perhaps, though it may have been a very rare occurrence in the past, they had simply missed each other, and Frisk had gone to her own room to check on  _ her _ . Toriel, however, did not find Frisk in her own room; rather, she spotted a lone sheet of ruled notebook paper, sitting on the floor right next to the door. She picked it up, smoothing out what little creases there were, and began to read, squinting at the words.

“Be back soon… Frisk!” A note meant one of two things: either Frisk had gone for an early morning walk around the Ruins, without even bothering to ask permission, or…

Or they had gone downstairs.

Toriel had to find them, one way or another, but she could not be in two places at once. She would need to call in some reinforcements.

 

 

* * *

 

Rupert stood firm in Toriel’s front yard, keeping a watchful eye on the front gate. Toriel had come up to him in a hurry, not glaring yet nearly panicked enough to do so, and given him and any Monster nearby detailed instructions.

Apparently, the kid, little tiny Frisk, was  _ missing _ .

A few monsters, including Rupert, himself, had shaken their heads-- they were old enough to remember the last child, remember a situation exactly the same as this, and had drawn their conclusions from there. The other children, however, had never been so young.

And they’d never charmed so many Monsters.

The spiders had come out of the cracks, posting several in every room of the Ruins, spinning their webs in the highest parts of the rooms for better viewing. Froggits hopped their patrols, Moldsmals slimed down hallways-- even one of the braver Whimsuns could be seen fluttering around.

Rupert, himself, had taken watch at Toriel’s own home. He loved the kid, like he loved his own Tads, and if Frisk was somewhere in the Ruins, they would come back home eventually.

They had to.

 

 

* * *

 

“we just met and already you’re fallin’ for me.” The skeleton reached down with the hand not holding onto the deflated whoopie cushion. “at least ask my name first.”

Frisk needed to wait a few seconds for their giggles to die down before they could try to uncurl from their little ball of mirth. Finally, they reached up a hand to take the skeleton’s outstretched one.

_ Bzzzap! _

Frisk had managed to get to their feet, but the soft tingling feeling in their hand still startled them. Carefully, they took their hand away to find yet another trick of the jokester’s trade: a tiny hand buzzer, wrapped around and between the bones.

“i have another one-- shocking, i know.” The skeleton’s grin didn’t fade, even as he spoke, and even as Frisk just managed to stifle their laughter by biting their lip. “alright, alright, that’s enough of ‘em, i swear. what’s your name, kid?”

They liked this skeleton already.  _ Frisk _ , they spelled out, then paused, looking up at the skeleton uncertainly. They’d become so used to Toriel knowing every word they signed, they completely forgot about writing it out, instead. What if he didn’t know? He’d be confused and Frisk would look silly and--

“hey, woah, kid. stop.” A bony hand wrapped around Frisk’s tiny arm, pausing them as they reached around for their backpack and, therefore, their pad and pencil. “it’s alright. look.” Frisk redirected their attention, still feeling the heat in their cheeks, despite the stinging cold wind.

_ nice to meet you, frisk. i’m sans the skeleton. _

Frisk gaped, not for the first time in the underground. Sans’ hands moved quickly and fluidly, somehow managing a form of ‘accent’ even in sign form, and were fairly, surprisingly, easy to read. Must be easier without a bunch of flesh in the way.  _ How? _ they signed, and continued to watch in wonder as his hands, rather than move back to his hoodie pockets, began to move.

_ i knew a guy . _ For a second, the bones shook, a tiny little movement that Frisk wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been staring right at his hands.  _ he talked in hands, too. _ “anyway,” Sans continued on, briskly, as if nothing at all had happened, “i’m supposed to be lookin’ out for humans like you. orders to capture on sight.”

Capture? Frisk wanted absolutely no part of that, no thank you, skeleton sir. They had things to explore, and a hat to give back! There was no time to be captured! Sans must have noticed their concern, because he put his hands up in defence.

“nah, i’m not really interested. you look like you’re on a mission, already, kiddo.” He put his hands back in his hoodie pockets, once more easy going and calm. “my brother, papyrus, on the other hand…”

Oh, how warm that hoodie looked, Frisk thought, completely tuning out Sans’ words. With that furry hood, and thick material, and since Sans was so much bigger it’d swallow them up into a little bean burrito and-- “kid? frisk?” Sans’ smile hadn’t disappeared, but there was a soft crease between his eye sockets, however that happened to work. They must have been staring directly at him! Frisk raised their hands up to sign an apology, only to be hindered by their shaking, bluish-tinged hands.

“damn-- uh, dang, not used to kids-- when you don’t have skin, you kinda forget about the cold. must be chilled down to the bones, eh, shorty?” Sans gestured towards Frisk, though whether it was a result of him shrugging out of his enormous hoodie or a supplement to his pun-- double puns in one sentence!-- they had no clue. “come on, don’t freeze me out just yet.” With yet another pun, and Frisk began to wonder if there was ever an end, Sans wrapped the hoodie around them in one swift motion.

In an instant, the cutting wind was stopped, tiny snowflakes no longer falling right on top of Frisk’s hair. It was dark and warm inside, warm enough to melt the snow already frosting-- oh, and now  _ they  _ were doing it!-- their clothes. The whole thing smelled like bones and tomatoes. It was the best coat Frisk had ever worn.

“alright in there?” Sans’ voice came through the thick layer of cloth, and Frisk wormed a hand outside through a small gap in front of them, signing a very,  _ very _ quick  _ yes _ , before recovering their poor hand from the stinging cold. “try the sleevies?”

Sleevies?

Frisk didn’t need to wait long for an answer. “king keeps his armies there, don’t you know?” It took a moment, but Frisk decided, wisely, to simply skip over the reaction and do as told. Their arms wiggled until they found the holes, and at full extension, only reached about Sans’ elbow length down the sleeves.

“hm. maybe we should get a kid’s size. what do you think?” Suddenly, the hood lifted off of Frisk’s face, enough to keep it on and still let them see the outside world. Sans peered in at them, grin as wide as ever. “think i should invest?”

That… might be a pun? Frisk honestly couldn’t tell anymore, not with the frequency and caliber of the jokes thrown their way today. Rather, they loosed an arm, signed a  _ no _ and a  _ thank you, mr. sans _ , right to Sans’ face.

“mister? who you callin’ a mister?” Sans’ eye sockets narrowed a little bit, and Frisk could have sworn that the beady little white lights they’d been thinking of as Sans’ actual eyes dimmed a little. “do i look like a raincloud to you?” As jovial as before. More puns, but considering Sans’ gray t-shirt and, heh, big-boned shape…

Something took over, and Frisk signed  _ yes _ .

 

 

* * *

 

“it’s what you get for insulting people, kid. it’s the rules.”

Frisk sat perched upon Sans’ bony shoulders, a tiny blue burrito with a face just poking out of a rim of soft, white fur. It was a spectacle, to be sure, and they wanted  _ down _ .

“sorry, can’t do anything about that,” Sans said, shrugging and therefore jostling Frisk where they sat. “i can’t believe you would call me a raincloud, and you were so cirrus…”

Frisk flopped their face down to rest against Sans’ bare skull. The actual feeling of him was super interesting: he was made of bones, but he  _ felt _ like he had a body, made of all the soft, squishy, warm stuff Frisk was. The surface of the bone was smooth, even, instead of rough! Maybe there was skin, and all of that stuff was just invisible? Frisk had seen plenty of strange things since they got here, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

“hey, little bean butts like you have to sit up straight. need a backbone in snowdin forest.” Sans shrugged again, forcing Frisk to sit up straight once more. The hood, however, stayed in place, causing them to blindly fumble to push up the sleeves and place their hands in front of Sans’ face.

“no butt?” Sans read it out as it was signed, exactly the way it was signed. “i don’t know about that, kid-- what else could you be sitting on up there?” Frisk could feel the snickering vibrating up through Sans’ bones, and quickly signed something else. “me? so now i have no butt?”

This wasn’t where Frisk was going at all, but they were only a toddler, and butts at that age are one of the grand weapons of comedy. They couldn’t help themselves, and they burst into giggles.

“because i’ll have you know,” Sans continued, despite Frisk wiggling on top of his shoulders, “i  _ do _ have a butt, and it’s one of the biggest butts you’ve ever seen.” It only served to intensify the giggling coming from the little wrapped bundle still sat upon his shoulder, and the quiet, slightly raspy sounds were incredibly infectious-- he had no choice but to join in.

“BROTHER, WHAT DO YOU HAVE ON YOUR HEAD?”

Frisk stopped laughing instantly, choosing instead to bring their arms inside the cocoon of blue cloth and cover their ears. Whoever was talking to the pair of them wasn’t  _ painfully _ loud, but it just bordered that line.

“oh, hey, pap. like my new hat?” Pap? Frisk vaguely remembered something about a Papyrus, and this person had said broth--

“IT MOVED!” Oh, and there it crossed the line, right when he was startled. “SANS, YOU LEAVE YOUR POST FOR FIVE MINUTES AND YOU COME BACK WITH SOME SORT OF BLUE, FUZZY--”

Sans shifted a little, but Frisk was reluctant to try and see what he was doing. It would make them move, and this Papyrus seemed really, really scary with how loud he seemed. And how angry, shouting all the time! “c’mon, bro, take a closer look. it won’t bite ya.”

Papyrus sniffed. At least, Frisk thought it was Papyrus. “YOU’VE SAID THAT BEFORE, BROTHER.” Even as distrustful as he sounded, Frisk could hear the soft crunch of snow under boots coming closer and closer. What would this Papyrus do to them? Sans said he might capture them; did he really mean that? What would happen then? Would they be locked up and fed out of a dog bowl? Would it involve small, enclosed spaces?

Frisk was a brave child, but sometimes that can have limits; just as the footsteps stopped, Frisk did the absolute first thing that popped into their head: they lifted their hood to look Papyrus right in the eye, reached out a hand, and  _ booped _ him, right above his sinus cavity ‘nose’.

Huh. Frisk had not been expecting that face. Neither had Sans, apparently, as he took one second to look at the completely stunned Papyrus and started chuckling. More like… belly laughing.

“WHAT.” Somehow, even when shocked, Papyrus still managed to speak very, very loudly. It must have been some kind of talent. “SANS, WHAT.”

“geez, bro,” Sans wheezed, trying to get his breath back, though he had no lungs to speak of, “all this time looking for a human to capture and one gets the jump on you.”

“A HUMAN?” Papyrus looked confused for a few seconds, then reached out to pull the hood back even further. With Frisk’s tiny size, their upper half slid right out of the top of the hoodie. “ARE ALL HUMANS THIS… TINY? LOOK AT THEM, SANS!”

“i’ve seen ‘em, bro. they’ve been on my shoulders.”

“BUT HAVE YOU  _ SEEN _ THEM,” Papyrus demanded. Frisk took this time to really take a good look at Papyrus. He was the opposite of his brother, in some kind of daring costume, taller and skinnier than some trees Frisk had come across. He wasn’t some hulking, angry person at all; in fact… he kind of reminded Frisk of a kid, himself. They waved to get his attention.

_ I’m Frisk _ , they signed, adding in a little wave, just to be even friendlier. Papyrus’ eye sockets grew wide.

“THEY TALK IN HANDS, SANS,” he hissed, insofar as Papyrus could actually try and hiss.

“i know, bro.”

“TINY HUMAN FRISK,” Papyrus rushed right over his brother, who didn’t really seem to mind at all, “I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND IT WILL BE AN HONOR TO CAPTURE ONE SO… FORWARD.”

Forward? He thought a booped nose was  _ forward _ ? Frisk could show him forward! With one hand they beckoned him in closer, which wasn’t necessary but added a nice bit of drama to the whole thing, and before Papyrus could question them and potentially ruin their poor ears, Frisk kissed their hand and put it to his cheekbone.

“NGAHH!” Papyrus shot back a few feet, clutching one hand to his cheekbone, and Frisk would swear from that day forward they saw bones blush, honest to goodness bright red. “HUMAN… FLIRTING? AND WE’VE ONLY JUST MET… OH MY…”

Sans snorted from underneath Frisk. “i think you broke him, kiddo. savage.”

Frisk leaned down to ‘kiss’ him, too, and reveled in the satisfaction of making two skeletons blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frisk is the real casanova, just look at all that flirting  
> also references to undertale comics here and there because i'm a sucker for them  
> things will speed up after this chapter, just needed to get those intros, eh?


	5. japers and capers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus is a master of the craft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been long enough, eh?
> 
> everything's been going on way too much, ngl
> 
> but i'm here, with an actual chapter!
> 
> btw my mom's great! she can drive and walk on a walker, and we have our own house again!!!
> 
> well, in two weeks
> 
> anyway, undertale!

If Frisk didn’t like being carried on Sans’ shoulders, they  _ really  _ didn’t like being carried on Papyrus’ shoulders. They were even bonier, somehow, and skinnier, sharply poking Frisk’s bottom even through their shorts and the thick cushion of Sans’ coat. All of this, and Papyrus was  _ ridiculously _ tall, more than anyone Frisk had ever met; with every stride of his long skinny legs, he swayed under his new top-heavy center of balance, leaving Frisk to hold onto his skull for dear life.

“HUMAN, YOU ARE SHAKING QUITE BADLY. ARE YOU COLD, STILL?” Papyrus sounded even louder up here, but no way in heck was Frisk going to risk falling to cover their ears. “HOLD ON, I HAVE SOMETHING.” His bony fingers uncurled from around Frisk’s legs, leaving them with even less support; Frisk quickly changed their grip on his skull to compensate.

“I CAN’T SEE! TINY HANDS!” Papyrus twisted his head this way and that, as if to shake off the blockage, but Frisk only curled in tighter. “SANS, I HAVE BEEN DEFEATED! BLINDED! WHAT ROYAL GUARDSMAN IS BLIND?”

Sans’ voice came from behind them. “those bucks on the other side of snowdin, bro.”

Frisk didn’t quite understand, but was glad for the bucks: down here, even they got fair treatment. Better than up top, that’s for sure, they thought, surprised at the unusual bitter feeling. Papyrus, however, didn’t seem so happy about it; he turned on his heel to look back at Sans, letting Frisk see his grinning face through the thin gap between their hood and Papyrus’ skull. “SANS.”

Sans ignored him in favor of looking up at Frisk. “something you need to say, kid?”

Papyrus was pretty still for the moment, but, just in case, Frisk locked their legs around Papyrus’ neck vertebrae.  _ Bucks? Who? _ As soon as they finished signing, they wrapped their arms around Papyrus’ forehead once again. He tended to move without warning.

“SANS.” Frisk couldn’t see it, but the shifting of bone under their hands felt like Papyrus was frowning, as much as a skeleton could frown. “DON’T CORRUPT THE HUMAN.”

“who’re the bucks, you said?” Sans, with his hands in his shorts pockets, this time, kept walking even though Papyrus had stopped. As he only just passed, he spoke up again. “no-eye deer.”

Frisk did not want to laugh at that. They didn’t want to, and they weren’t going to, not at all, until the pressure in their chest became too much, leaving them giggling into Papyrus’ skull. Papyrus, himself, sighed, but not so much in the normal way anyone else sighed. He honestly took the time, as he reached up to grab the giggling Frisk around the middle, to say the word ‘sigh’ out loud.

“SIGH.” He held Frisk out in front of him, presumably to look them in the eye, even though they were hanging upside down and eye-level with the bottom of his bright red, tattered cape. “HUMAN, YOU HAVE BEEN WITH MY BROTHER FOR TOO LONG. I WORRY FOR YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR, TIBIA HONEST.”

Frisk pointed at him, delighted. 

Papyrus rolled his eyes, which looked incredibly strange on a skeleton. “I CAN MAKE THEM, TOO. I JUST HOLD MY JOKES TO A HIGHER STANDARD.”

“c’mon, bro.” Sans held out a hand in front of him, and the edges started to blur blue, like Toriel’s had when she was about to make a flame, except that was orange-y red and not blue. “we all know you think it’s  _ humerus _ .” Then, something strange happened.

Frisk felt a tug in their chest, and their SOUL popped out in front, hovering upside down. What was different, however, was that it was blue, for one, and the feeling that came with it. It made Frisk dizzy, stomach rising up at the same time their heart-- not the heart-SOUL in front, but their actual heart-- dropped, like being really high off the ground. It kind of felt like if Papyrus were to let go of their middle, they’d stay right there, floating.

They did.

Papyrus’ gloved hands were no longer around Frisk’s middle, and the ground was still several feet below them, covered in soft white snow and dotted with Papyrus’ huge boot-prints. Frisk was pretty sure they hadn’t grown an inch in the last few months, let alone the last few seconds, and their legs definitely weren’t touching the ground. They were  _ floating _ , right in mid-air! They pointed at the ground, far too excited and mystified to properly sign much of anything, and Frisk found their arm also edged in that blurry blue. Frisk’s whole body was wreathed in magic, and as they watched, they slowly turned in mid-air until they were right side up, facing Papyrus.

“SANS, YOU’VE BEEN PRACTICING!” Frisk felt their hair ruffle from the sheer volume of Papyrus’ shout, now right in their face rather than their feet. “HAVE YOU FINISHED BEING A LAZYBONES? I’M SO PROUD,” he sniffled, despite lacking any amount of snot-making materials, actual tears appearing at the edge of suddenly-there eyes. Honestly, it was probably best to just accept it all as magic and need no further explanation, Frisk reasoned tiredly.

“could say i’ve been practicing,” Sans started, snapping his fingers and dissipating the blue wisps of magic, letting Frisk drop into Papyrus’ waiting hands, “but i’d be lyin’.” He waited a moment, letting the anticipation build, before he winked at Frisk and said, “no  _ pride _ in that.”

Papyrus didn’t glare or yell at Sans for his punning, as Frisk had expected of him, based on his previous reactions. Instead, as Frisk giggled into their hands, he smiled-- at least, as far as Frisk could tell it was a smile. Skeletons, even magical ones, could be hard to read at times. 

“NO WONDER YOU’VE HAD NO TIME FOR YOUR PUZZLES.” Papyrus, rather than place Frisk-- newly-deafened from their position right in front of Papyrus’ face-- down, brought them even closer. “OH! HUMAN, DO YOU ENJOY JAPERS AND CAPERS?”

Frisk blinked. It was a good thing they knew sign language already. Almost afraid of what Papyrus’ response would be, but knowing they did, indeed, really like puzzles, they slowly signed a  _ yes _ .

Papyrus lit up. “WONDERFUL! YOU KNOW,” he continued, growing a little smug, “I AM THE ABSOLUTE BEST AT PUZZLES. LET ME SHOW YOU THE ONES I’VE BEEN WORKING ON!”

Frisk looked back at Sans, and they must have looked a little panicked, because he raised the hand not currently wiping down his sweaty skull. “i thought those were to capture humans. you already caught one, right there,” he pointed out.

“YES,” Papyrus answered slowly, “BUT I CANNOT LET MY HARD WORK GO TO WASTE! UNDYNE SAID SHE WAS TOO BUSY THIS WEEK TO WATCH.”

“i’m sure,” Sans snarked, and Frisk was left wondering who Undyne was. Hopefully she was as nice as these two. 

Even if they were currently manhandling them like a stuffed animal.

Sans’ sarcasm seemed to sail right over Papyrus’ head, because he tucked Frisk under his arm like a football-- which was so undignified, and Frisk wasn’t sure where they learned that word, but they knew it fit-- and turned on his heel to stride into the snow. “SUCH IS THE LIFE OF THE CAPTAIN,” he sighed, “BUT I KNOW YOU’LL LOVE THESE JUST AS MUCH, HUMAN!”

Frisk was pretty sure they were going to regret all of this, especially if these were human-capturing devices, but seeing Papyrus so excited was kinda worth being in a skeleton’s armpit.

* * *

 

The toughest part of these puzzles, Frisk noted at the end, was the fact that -- most of the time-- the snow came up to their waist. Which meant it burrowed up under Sans’ hoodie, getting the bottom soaked, and freezing their bare legs were they weren’t covered by shorts.

Everything else was pretty easy, to say the least.

Firstly, Papyrus had plonked them down into a snowdrift in front of a nice, flat, cleared area of snow, placed something just as cold onto their head, then walked through to the other side in a weird, squiggly way. Sans had just appeared from behind a tree somewhere up ahead, even though Frisk was absolutely sure that he’d been behind them two seconds ago.

Skeletons.

“NOW, HUMAN,” Papyrus shouted, even though his regular voice was loud enough and yelling only made it a little screechier, if anything, “THIS IS MY INVISIBLE ELECTRICITY MAZE. ONE WRONG MOVE, AND ZAP! MEET ME ON THE OTHER SIDE,” he paused for dramatic tension, “IF YOU DARE!”

In the midst of his cackling, Frisk followed the furrows Papyrus’ boots had made in the snow, losing whatever he had placed on their head somewhere in the middle. Hey, they were a toddler-- asking them for perfect balance and posture was a little much. When they reached the end, they smiled up at Papyrus with their arms spread out.  _ Ta-da! I did it! _

“WHA-- HUMAN!” He didn’t sound very happy at all, and Frisk tucked their arms in and their head down. “YOU’LL HAVE TO DO IT OVER, YOU NEED TO KEEP THIS ON AT ALL TIMES!”

Rather than do, well, whatever Frisk was thinking he would-- what Mama and Papa did, and not just to Frisk-- he stomped past them and into the maze, towards what Frisk had dropped. It looked like a blue ball.

Papyrus kept talking as he moved back. “THIS IS WHAT MAKES IT--” He must have gotten too close to one of the walls, because with a loud ZAP he shuddered and felt into another wall, where the same thing happened again.

Frisk watched, slowly uncurling, and Sans sidled over, hands in his pockets.

“he’ll be fine, kid.” He nodded, confirming, before casting a glance down at Frisk, still a little huddled and afraid. “and don’t worry,” Sans continued, “he’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. he’s just picky about puzzles. trust me.” 

Even if that were the case, Frisk decided to walk to the next puzzles, rather than be carried.

Secondly, while Sans was off somewhere, because Papyrus begged him to make a puzzle and join in the fun, Frisk played a game with a snowball.

Actually, they called it something like a snowdeca-- well, it was a big word. Still, they had to get it into a hole at the end, so it was kinda like mini-golf, and Frisk liked mini-golf. They walked around for a little while, like they’d seen big golfers do at the pirate course back home, looking for dips and patches of sand.

It was ice, here, but it worked about the same. Finally, once they’d decided their course of action, Frisk took off at full clumsy-toddler speed.

They got a red flag and a bunch of shiny yellow coins at the end, so maybe the big golfers were onto something.

Thirdly, Sans’ puzzle was a ketchup and grease stained piece of paper with a word search on it. While Papyrus yelled again, something about health and fire people and the time and place for jokes, Frisk tried to solve it.

Most of the words were in there, as far as they knew, but one of the words wasn’t even a word, and wasn’t even in the grid of letters!

They didn’t like Ice-E, either. It reminded them of Bill E. Choco from back home, and if Frisk never saw a large scary fish again, it would be too soon. Upset, but not that they’d show it, they left it in the snow and tugged on Papyrus’ cape.

“SEE, SANS?” Papyrus crossed his bony arms, a little smug. “EVEN THE HUMAN THINKS IT’S A POOR PUZZLE.”

Well, it  _ was _ , but Frisk wasn’t just picking sides to pick sides. They wanted away from that ice cube.

Fourthly--

Well, they skipped over the fourthly. It was a bunch of Xs and Os on the ground, and while Frisk was sure they could figure it out with enough time and something high to stand on, Sans and Papyrus seemed to agree it was too difficult for the moment.

Besides, Frisk was starting to lose feeling in their legs.

Fifthly came a giant floor that looked like a disco floor, and Frisk had seen what one of those looked like in a movie. Their legs were cold, but maybe they could shuffle around a little. Wasn’t that good for keeping warm?

Papyrus rattled off a long, complicated list of rules that Frisk made neither heads nor tails of, and flipped a switch. He looked proud until it just turned into a long hallway of two colors, and then he spun slowly behind the treeline.

Sixthly, though, there were lots and lots of dogs, and Frisk made absolutely sure to play fetch with and pet every single one of them.

They were all very good dogs, even if poor Stick was covered in slobber and teeth marks by the end of all the fun, and Sans’ coat was white with shed fur and dirty snow. He didn’t seem to mind too much, as far as Frisk could tell. He was too busy belly laughing at Papyrus playing fetch.

Frisk could understand that. When would you ever see a skeleton man catch a stick in his mouth and bring it back again?

Somewhere after the dogs, Frisk felt sleepy, and after their sixth yawn, either Sans or Papyrus picked them up. Frisk didn’t particularly care who it was. They were tired and cold, and Papyrus had made up for his yelling earlier by buying a Nice Cream for Frisk.

Okay, he’d asked Sans for money, then paid. How someone so lazy had money to spare, Frisk would never know.

Faintly, they remembered a long, swaying bridge and twinkling lights, then a soft warm bed and mumbling voices. Then, they didn’t remember anything at all.

* * *

 

Their head hurt.

Their body felt wrong.

The last they remembered was a lot of pain and a lot of sick, and everyone being worried, and then…

Flowers, and humans, and monsters.

They were too crowded and too alone all at once, and they couldn’t move.

What was going on?

As they grew more panicked, the dark swallowed them back up, and they went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who could this be?
> 
> it's not much of a mystery, really
> 
> one day, more chapters, i promise!


	6. awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk hears a story, and someone wakes up from a very long nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, everyone!
> 
> i managed to knock this one out in the midst of moving
> 
> also, if you feel a little lost, the last chapter is an actual chapter now, not just an author's note! go and read that one if you haven't yet!
> 
> i think that's all the housekeeping i need to do
> 
> except for actual housekeeping cause i'm not packed up and we're moving in tomorrow
> 
> heck

Frisk woke up face down in something that smelled like bones, pressing over their mouth and nose until they forced themself up on wobbly arms. Muzzily, they blinked, their head feeling overcrowded and empty all at once, and looked around.

Somehow, they’d gotten into a room. Not even a bedroom, because a closer inspection showed they were on a squashy green couch that jangled a little as they moved, with a big TV covered with bars of color. The noise of some jaunty jingle came from it, as well as rattling and crashing from a room off to the side.

They must have been extra tired not to have noticed anything this loud.

“hey, kid.” Frisk rolled to sit up, finding Sans at the other end of the couch, grinning just as he had the whole time they’d known him. “welcome back. next time, tell us if you need to rest, okay? paps almost lost his top when he noticed.”

For a second, as Frisk processed everything Sans was saying, they wanted to… well, it was confusing. Sans was perfectly nice, but they felt like… he wasn’t? They should recoil, or run, or be sick because monsters were…

**In the way.**

No. That didn’t make any sense. Frisk was too old to be scared of monsters, and being mad never solved anything.

“I DID NOT!” One last clang interrupted Frisk and any reply they were going to make, and Papyrus came out of the side room, wearing an apron over his “battle body” that said “Bone Appetit” and wielding a pair of tongs. Frisk knew it was a foreign phrase, but they wondered if the joke was lost on him.

**Probably.**

“I WAS JUST… THE LAST PUZZLE WAS UNDERWHELMING.” Papyrus sniffed as if he had any sinuses at all. “RETOOLING, REWORKING, REPLANNING! ALL THAT WORK, WASTED!”

Though Frisk hadn’t seen him move at all, Sans somehow had a thick book in his hands, and he leafed through it like he was speed reading. “so was carrying the kid through snowdin screaming and running part of your plan?”

Papyrus crossed his arms. “YES. OBVIOUSLY.”

“and promising to make them healing spaghetti?” 

“YES!” It took him a second, but Papyrus shook himself from his glare and rushed back into the room he’d come out of, which Frisk guessed was the kitchen. Just as they started to turn towards Sans and ask what healing spaghetti actually  _ was _ , Papyrus was back, holding a massive plate of… well, normal-looking spaghetti. There were noodles, and red sauce, and a couple of what looked like meatballs. Something white was grated over the top and a little leaf of something green perched on top of the probably-meatballs.

Healing spaghetti was the real underwhelming event here.

But Frisk liked spaghetti, and it smelled tomato-y and with all those spices, it made their mouth water. Even if it wasn’t healing, getting something in their belly wouldn’t be a bad idea. Beaming, they brought their right hand to their chin and moved it out again.  _ Thank you! _

As Papyrus very carefully handed over the plate, a fork, and a napkin (it was patterned with little white dogs-- how cute!), Frisk noticed both he and Sans had a look on their faces. It was kinda happy and kinda sad, like…

**Nostalgic. Indulgent. Bittersweet.**

Frisk didn’t know those words, but there they were, in their head, and they felt right. Taking the fork, making sure they didn’t make a mess of themself or the couch, they twirled some noodles into a ball, topped with some sauce and a bit of meatball. Best to get everything in one bite. They raised it to their mouth--

**Honestly, how do you not-- wait, wait,** **_do not put that in our--_ **

\-- and shoved the whole bite right in.

Frisk chewed a couple of times, very aware of both skeletons watching closely, with their most focused face on. Maybe Papyrus was looking for a food critic, and though Frisk was a little kid, they could do their best. Very soon, instead of looking thoughtful, their whole face screwed up like they’d eaten a lemon. Again.

Maybe they should’ve listened to the voice in their head.

The taste was indescribable. It had smelled like spaghetti, had looked like spaghetti, and had even behaved like spaghetti should, but this… this was  _ not _ spaghetti. This was something else, and because they’d taken such a large bite, the flavor was everywhere. Quickly, Frisk looked from Sans to Papyrus and back again, their eyes growing blurry.

“OH, LOOK, SANS,” Papyrus clasped his hands together, “TEARS OF JOY! THEY LOVE MY SPAGHETTI!”

“sure do, bro.” Sans pressed the napkin into Frisk’s hand, now empty because they’d dropped their fork as the meal showed its true colors. 

The voice in Frisk’s head was saying some very naughty words Frisk had only heard grown ups say.  **I don’t care what that skeleton says to you, do** **_not_ ** **swallow that!**

Wouldn’t he be sad, though? It sounded like he was working hard, and he looked so happy as Frisk had taken a bite. Even if it was awful, Frisk couldn’t do that to him. Firmly ignoring the increasingly frantic voice, Frisk-- with a little difficulty, but a lot of determination-- swallowed the spaghetti. It settled in their belly like a rock, and they wiped their mouth with the napkin before carefully placing the plate to the side.

“WHA-- HUMAN, YOU NEED YOUR STRENGTH!” Papyrus scooped the plate and fork up, twirling up another bite. Was he going to try and feed Frisk now? “FINISH WHAT’S ON YOUR PLATE!”

Quickly, Frisk shook their head, and stumbled over their own fingers as they began to sign.  _ Nonono, it was good! One bite and I’m all better! Thank you so much, Papyrus. _

Papyrus hesitated for a moment, still clutching the plate of spaghetti. “WELL, IF YOU’RE CERTAIN, HUMAN.” Swiftly, he walked over to a rock sitting on a table, dumping what was left onto it. “I CAN ALWAYS MAKE YOU SOME MORE. WHO KNEW IT WAS SO POWERFUL!”

“just cause you made it, paps.” The book was gone again, and Sans stretched out longways over the couch, feet just shy of touching Frisk’s blanketed feet. “i think you’ve sur-pasta--”

He cut off mid-pun as the room grew dimmer, just for a second, like a brown-out back where Frisk used to live with Mama and Papa. A little wisp of something warm and comforting, smelling like cinnamon, floated through the air, gathering just in front of Frisk in a glowing gold cloud. Slowly, it drifted away, through the window above the couch, and Frisk stood up to watch it settle right in front of the house, nestled in the snow.

Frisk smiled, heart swelling with affection and determination. Maybe the Determinal took so long because of the spaghetti. Plopping back down on their blanket, they turned their head to look at Papyrus and Sans, who were being very strangely quiet. Even the voice in their head had stopped complaining about the feeling of foul pasta in their belly.

They were staring, slack-jawed, Sans sometimes tearing his attention from Frisk to look out the window and back.

Papyrus broke the silence first. “I DIDN’T KNOW TINY HUMANS COULD DO MAGIC,” he said, awed and still cheerful.

“yeah,” Sans agreed, though his voice wasn’t steady, and Frisk couldn’t tell if he was scared or angry or what, “no clue.”

**Well,** the voice said, and they sounded amused more than anything,  **that’s interesting.**

* * *

  
  


When Chara woke up, this time for certain, they knew something was wrong. 

For one thing, they hadn’t opened their own eyes, and rather than go back to sleep like they used to do, like they  _ wanted _ to do, they were up on really stubby, really weak arms.

Not theirs. The arms, that is.

They’d been in this kind of situation before. Back… a long time ago, they had never been super great at time, they shared a body with.

Someone.

They’d picked up their own body, with a plan in mind, made it to the surface, and been pushed to the background until the absolute  _ idiot _ had.

Had.

Dusted.

But this one wasn’t powerful. This one wasn’t brimming with magic, tall and strong, floppy-eared with powerful curved horns.

This one, though Chara was nowhere near a mirror, was for sure  _ way _ younger. The hands were  _ tiny _  and darker than Chara’s had been when they had a body. The hair was shorter, leaving their neck open and vulnerable, and.

Their throat was locked.

Chara was sitting backseat, as it were, just a passenger along for the ride, but they could feel this body like their own. No control, but free to poke around a little, and whatever voice this… kid? Had was sealed up tight.

The only way Chara could even tell what they were saying was because, in their head, the kid  _ never stopped narrating _ .

_ Where am I? Oh, I’m on a couch. Hi, Sans! Why am I mad? Papyrus was scared? He’s so loud. Does he get the joke? That’s kinda mean. But he’ll be sad! _

Constant.

A little more poking got them some information on their new host: Frisk, toddler, human. They were, ugh,  _ friends _ , with everyone. They’d--

They’d met Toriel.

They’d called her mom.

Toriel had taught them, and bathed them, and read to them, and fed them.

Chara would think about it later, and maybe that was the reason they’d started to actually interact with Frisk. Talk to them, explain things, beg them at one point.

They’d hated everything when they were alive, and even when they were dead, they’d hatched a scheme. Everything and everyone was so awful.

But.

They’d hated Toriel, and Asgore, and  _ him _ , less than everything else.

Toriel was mom, and if Frisk called her mom, too?

Well.

Maybe they could get used to a baby sibling.

Then, oh,  _ then _ , baby Frisk did something Chara wasn’t quite expecting: they made a SAVE-- they called it a  _ Determinal _ , honestly! They’d never even liked puns when they could get away from them-- and didn’t even know it. The rush of determination felt sweet and warm and even stirred something down in the depths of even Chara’s dark, ruined heart.

If Frisk could make a SAVE with nothing but a bite of horrible spaghetti, what else could they do?

Pushing a thought forward, Chara settled back into a corner of Frisk’s mind to think.

* * *

  
  


Frisk didn’t understand what the big deal was. So they could make a gold cloud, and it felt kinda nice and strange when you touched it, but Sans could make things blue and move them around, and so could Papyrus.

He shot a bone out of nowhere at a yappy white dog, which also appeared out of nowhere, and it was blue, so.

But Sans had lifted their arms and poked and prodded while looking around them, like a checkup, which tickled a lot and ended up with Frisk in giggle fits and the voice grumbling about monsters and personal space. 

Papyrus lifted Frisk under their armpits and begged them to do it again, because, “WOWIE! I’VE NEVER SEEN THAT BEFORE. IT’S SO… UNIQUE, INSPIRED! SHOW IT TO ME!”

It hadn’t worked out, but Frisk did their absolute best, scrunching their face and trying to be as determined as absolutely possible. It just made them tired and a little sore from straining all their muscles, with not even a strand of that light to show for it.

Papyrus had deflated a little but still hugged Frisk to him, declared that it was okay as long as Frisk did their best, and whisked them off to see his racecar bed and action figures.

Sans, still quiet and thoughtful, but less rattled, had gone off somewhere else. Frisk hoped they hadn’t made him upset earlier. He was nice and made good jokes, even if the voice didn’t like them very much.

Frisk played with Papyrus for a long time, mostly with his action figures, which he felt the need to introduce carefully and thoroughly, one by one, but at one point, he brought out a weird thin book and started going over rules of ...dating? Sure, they flirted, but were they really ready for dates?

Thankful for the end of it, they managed to weasel a story out of Papyrus when he wouldn’t stop looking worried that he’d hurt Frisk’s feelings.

“... AND THAT’S WHY UNDYNE SAID I CAN’T VISIT NAPSTABLOOK ANYMORE,” he concluded, and Frisk sat up straight. That was right-- the whole reason they’d left Toriel was to return Napstablook’s top hat, and they were just sitting here? They reached up and tugged on his glove.

“SO, I SAID TO HER-- WHAT IS IT, HUMAN?” When he looked down at Frisk, they quickly spelled out:  _ Napstablook! You know where they live? _

“OF COURSE I DO!” Papyrus puffed up his chest a little, and Frisk could have sworn they saw his scarf blow in the wind, even though there was no wind to speak of. “THEY LIVE RIGHT NEXT TO UNDYNE-- OH, SHE KNOWS ALL ABOUT HUMANS, MAYBE WE SHOULD VISIT HER!” 

Frisk had heard many tales about Undyne so far, and she sounded kind of…

The voice reappeared and sighed,  **Aggressive.**

Yeah! Aggressive. And apparently she was a captain, which meant she must fight a lot, and Frisk wasn’t too sure about this whole thing. Still, if it got them closer to Napstablook…

_ Yeah! _

Papyrus grinned, which was no different than usual. “WONDERFUL!” He stood up from where he was sitting with Frisk on the floor, unfolding his long leg bones with the occasional creak and clack. His smile faded a little as he looked out the window, however. “NOT TODAY, THOUGH. UNDYNE NEEDS AT LEAST A DAY IN ADVANCE! WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ANOTHER STORY?” He paused to go look through his bookshelf, which Frisk noticed was mostly empty of anything even near their own reading level. “I… HAVE NO MORE STORIES.”

Frisk frowned. They liked playing well enough, even if the play-date was a weird little rabbit trail, but they couldn’t continue their journey. Stories were great, but Papyrus had no more. Unless… 

_ Get more?  _ Surely there must be a place to get books, right?

**Hey, Frisk, do we really need to go out there and see monsters? I have plenty of stories I could share! Like: Once upon a time, a kid named Chara (that’s me) ate a whole bunch of butter--**

Papyrus gasped, effectively cutting off the voice’s story, and leaving Frisk alarmed and wondering if Chara was an actual name and why they ate a whole bunch of butter. That was a little gross.

“OF COURSE-- GET MORE STORIES! HUMAN,” he paused for dramatic effect, taking the time to scoop Frisk up like a football once more, “TO THE LIBRARBY!”

To the  _ what _ ?

* * *

  
  


As it turned out, Papyrus was not, in fact, mispronouncing ‘library’. The sign on the front, though it was frosted over and flecked with snow, spelled out ‘librarby’.

What a world to live in.

The actual building wasn’t very big, but it was cozy, and colored yellow and brown inside, which made it feel even more welcoming. Monsters sat at long tables, reading or working on papers in front of them, while a small grouping of very small monsters hunkered down around one larger one, near a bright and colorful section.

“Now, what story should we tell today,” the larger monster trilled, and the younger ones yelled out names and suggestions. Though Frisk wasn’t great with crowds, and the voice-- Chara?-- did not want to be caught anywhere near other monsters, stories were at stake. Determined, they looked at Papyrus and pointed to the noisy group.

“OH, THEY STILL TELL STORIES!” Papyrus would’ve clapped his hands at this, and Frisk knew this because he tried, even with one of his hands full of human child. “I REMEMBER LISTENING WHEN I WAS JUST A BABY BONES. WE’LL LOOK FOR BOOKS LATER-- RIGHT NOW, STORIES!” 

Frisk didn’t bother to point out that they could be one in the same, too pleased with having gotten their way. Still, they marveled when Papyrus, rather than drop them off and busy himself with something else, like Mama used to, plonked himself right down in the crowd, Frisk on his folded legs.

It wasn’t super comfortable, but Frisk didn’t care.

The storyteller didn’t look too concerned about an… adult? monster being in the mix. Instead, they raised their hands, and the group quieted down. “Hmm… what do you say?” They pointed to a small, blue-furred monster in the middle.

“The barrier! Tell us about the barrier! Please?”

“OH, THAT’S A GOOD ONE,” Papyrus tried very hard to whisper.

An armless yellow monster on Frisk’s left pouted. “I wanted a story about Undyne.”

“The barrier?” The storyteller hesitated for a moment as if they didn’t really want to tell this one. “Oh, well. Because you asked so nicely.” They settled a little better on their stool, cleared their throat, and started to speak.

 

_ Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: HUMANS and MONSTERS.  _

_            One day, war broke out between the two races.  _

_ After a long battle, the humans were victorious.  _

_ They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell. _

_ Trapped behind the barrier and fearful of further human attacks, we retreated. _

_ Far into the earth we walked, until we reached the cavern's end. _

_ This was our new home, which we named... _

_ "Home." _

_ But we weren’t happy. _

_ That was a long time ago. _

_ Fearing the humans no longer, we moved out of our old city, HOME. _

_ We braved harsh cold, damp swampland, and searing heat... _

_ Until we reached what we now call our capital. _

_ "NEW HOME." _

_ But we still weren’t happy. _

_ We wanted to see the sun. _

_ Our King knew that to go Above again _

_ Seven human SOULS were needed. _

_ And now, we have six! _

_ We’re just waiting for one more human _

_ And we can see the sun again. _

 

The monsters cheered, and even Papyrus gave a small-- for him, at least-- “Nyeh heh heh!”

Frisk, though, stayed quiet, and thought, even as the storyteller was wheedled into one more story. They said thank you, of course, because that was just good manners, but even when Papyrus led them around to check out some books, they still thought.

The monsters were so sad. All they wanted was to go Above again, and the humans were so mean! What if those monsters all that time ago had lives and families and homes? No, Frisk knew they must have.

They just wanted to go home.

And maybe it could cost a SOUL, but what if it didn’t? What if all they needed was a helping hand? Some cheering up and a golden cloud? Some determination?

_ Chara? _ They didn’t sign it, but thought it, in their head.

**Yeah?**

_ Do… do you know anything about SOULS? _

From their little corner of existence, Chara smiled.


End file.
